


sigh

by justdoityoufucker



Category: Final Fantasy XII
Genre: Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Game
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-25
Updated: 2018-08-25
Packaged: 2019-06-28 14:29:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 883
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15709110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/justdoityoufucker/pseuds/justdoityoufucker
Summary: Their current setting is not a common one, at least not for the two of them.





	sigh

**Author's Note:**

  * For [ridorana](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ridorana/gifts).



> This is short :( but it's done! Thanks for the prompt, Ri

Their current setting is not a common one, at least not for the two of them. To have so much space, with high rafters above and glossy, curtained windows around is something of a luxury compared to the cosy cabins found in airships. But a large inn room is a welcome change, particularly as it offers at least temporary refuge from the wrath of his flying partner. Though to be in Bhujerba’s streets would be no great threat; Fran is off on a hunt, working off her annoyance at limping into Bhujerba’s ports with a broken rudder and misaligned yaw.

Balthier is generous enough to give her that. They should’ve had the rudder looked at before leaving Balfonheim, but the promise of seeing Vaan upon reaching the sky city was enough to strip him of some of his carefully cultivated sensibilities. At least Fran had no need to chew him out; that had already been done at length by an incised Nono as soon as they’d touched into the aerodrome.

But there is no reason for him to continue thinking of that, particularly when the reason for his urgency to visit is currently laying in his arms. At Balthier’s count, it has been three months and a handful of days longer since he has managed to wrestle Vaan into a bed. Their trysts are necessarily short, but the rare times where he can get Vaan in one place for any time is a luxury worth splurging on. 

Vaan is in the midst of regaling him about one of his more recent heists, sprawled under the rumpled sheets as if he truly and utterly belongs there.  _ He does, the chit _ , Balthier cannot help but think. All fond, of course; when it comes to Vaan it seems as though he is nothing but.

“--so I got it back, but then the cheapskate wouldn’t pay me everything,” Vaan is saying, complete with exaggerated gestures to properly convey his emotions. It is in the midst of the gesturing as he shares exactly what he said to the man (a colorful bit, even by Balthier’s standards), when his hands seize.

It is obvious it hurts, as Vaan hisses out a breath, draws his hands close and tries to work his fingers.

“And yet you are a healer,” Balthier drawls, taking the rare opportunity to sit up, the cotton pooling around his waist.

The smile that the statement earns is self-deprecating. “‘ve not had a lot of time to recover from work,” Vaan says, curling his hands in, toward his chest, but Balthier can’t have that. He teases those calloused, warm hands out. Minding the hisses of pain from Vaan, he works his thumbs in wide, gentle circles across the palms.

“Might I inquire how you mangled your own limbs so badly?” Balthier asks, arching an eyebrow at the pained pout the Dalmascan is giving him. Of course, he does know. The same happened once in the aftermath of Bergan’s rampage upon Bur-Omisace, but they had not been nearly as close at that time. If he recalled right, Penelo had been the one to massage the feeling back into the hands and fingers.

“To think that a white mage would be laid low by the very magicks he uses,” Balthier muses, enjoying how the pout morphs into an annoyed stare. He has to bite back a smile, and instead studiously looks down at the hands in his own.

Though scars cross the dark skin, they are cut by channels of a shimmering translucence, marks of the magicks Vaan uses. “I am waiting,” he reminds the Dalmascan.

That earns a petulant attempt to wrest his hands free, but it is half-hearted. “Supinelu posted a bill; something was killing their livestock and none of their warriors had been able to hunt it. Four of us went out.

“Two wyverns, but they were weird,” ah, the eloquent descriptions Balthier was used to. He left off with the wide circles of his thumbs, instead gently digging his fingers between the muscles and bones of Vaan’s palms. “They couldn’t fly, that was why they were hunting the nanna when they were turned out to graze. At least, that was what Yugelu said. And,” his voice turned sheepish, “they caught us off-guard.”

Ah. That explains the stiff hands. Overuse of magicks can recoil on the user, and white magicks are no different. And Vaan is something of a bleeding heart, if his past actions are anything to go by.

Silence falls between them as Vaan’s hands gradually relax, and by extension his shoulders and the rest of his body. It is a moment of calm, sitting there in the cool sheets, the late-day sun cutting across room in golden swaths.

Vaan finally pulls his hands away, sits back. When he flexes them there is no pain contorting his face, and a grateful smile pulls at his lips. “Thanks,” he says, suddenly shy.

“Really, why am I still stuck caring for you?” Balthier scolds, as if he does not enjoy it in the least.

“Oh,” Vaan rolls his eyes, smiling broadly, “how can I ever repay you, oh courteous sky-pirate?”

“Well, I know one way you could repay me with those hands of yours,” Balthier says. Vaan gives him a cheeky smile, and does as suggested.


End file.
